With a Pretty Dress, I Try to ImpressMature

You paint your nails black,just like your heart.You curl your light blond hair,never once thinking of me.You never call,never write,it's like I dropped off the Earth.But I didn't.I'm still here,still alive,still awake,so what's your problem?As you slick on your lipglossand makeout with your boyfriend,as you feel the tent in his jeans,will you ever think of me-the brokenhearted girl you left behind?Broken, fake, and unrepairable.I take happy pills to keep from falling apart.Will you ever think of me?The answer is no.As you let the perverted teent-touch your body,you forget me and turn into the whore I knew you'd be.

And after he takesall he wantshe'll leave you.And then you'll remember meand perhaps pity me.Always by your side,always there for you,but never anything special to you.nothing but a...a-a doll.A doll that you play with,toy with,tease,cut off all the hair and make me ugly in your eyes.Then you throw me away.And right before the garbage is taken out,you take me out,glue my hair on,make me a ghost of what I once was.And repeat the cycle again and againuntil the hair won't stay on,the makeup won't stick,and the pretty clothes make me dull in comparison. Then you'll toss me aside and get a new doll.And then I'll fall apart.My porcelain shell cracking,I turn into broken pieceswith a pretty dress.

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